


Petrificus

by ButterflyGhost



Series: due South Wizard!Verse [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:04:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser visits Victoria in prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrificus

It was a strange thing, considering his job, that he'd never thought much about what prison must be like, for a wizard. He knew they were necessary, of course, but before Victoria he had just taken it for granted that they were, or could, be curative. That time in prison was what you made of it, that you could use it to reassess your life, get back on the right track. There were opportunities to educate yourself, improve yourself... And of course prisons were necessary, for the magical citizens of the earth even more than the muggles. Because magic could be incendiary, and if allowed to grow out of control it could blaze through society like a forest fire. No muggle could do as much damage as a witch or wizard. The whole disaster with Voldemort (he didn't care to be intimidated, and he would name him if he saw fit) had proved just how destructive magic could be. How important it was to contain, to control... He had never doubted his calling, never doubted that, by putting criminals away he was doing the right thing.

Now that he was actually sitting in a wizard prison, waiting to see her, he realised just how naïve he had been. These places might be necessary, but good Lord, they hurt. It had always been a point of pride to him that he didn't fall for Wizard propaganda... yet he'd swallowed this particular lie. Hook, line and sinker. Because...

Because he'd never really considered the Dementors.

Even in the visiting room he could feel them. It was a vague and painful cloud, like a pressing headache, the kind that charms didn't banish. But it didn't just press against his head, it pushed into him, all over. Damp fog, cold. And within that, a dragging sensation, suction, like the sucking sound of a boot coming up out of mud. 

Unclean. Unholy. Loathsome. The whole place felt... Indeed. Only one word for it. Unclean.

He understood now why there had been so few visitors waiting at the gates. 

At first he barely recognised her. He acknowledged, briefly, the entrance of a stooped frail figure, and for a moment mistook her for an old woman. Then he jerked in recognition of her eyes, set deep in her face, socketed in shadows. Her hair... her hair was the same, a tenebrous cloud. Her face though, her face...

She was pale, she was tired, she was...

Oh God, what had he done?

“Victoria?”

She sat slowly opposite him. Unlike muggle visiting rooms, this one had no pane of glass separating the visitors from the inmates. But for all that, they were contained, both of them. He could not lean to her, nor she to him. In the silence that followed he realised that he couldn't for the life of him remember why he had come, what he had meant to say.

Finally she smiled. Very faint, very frightened, as though she was scared someone might snatch it away from her.

“Hello Benton.”

“You can call me Ben.”

“Have you come about my appeal, Ben?” A fragile hope hung between them. He saw it flicker in her eyes, and oh Lord, why had he come? To give her a glimmer of hope when there was none? He was beyond cruel. What had he been thinking of?

“No... no, I'm sorry.” He tried to put his arm across the table, to touch her hand, but he froze in the attempt. He registered surprise on her face as he struggled against the charm.

“What are you doing here then? There's no reason why you would come.”

“I...” he stopped fighting to touch, and slumped back in his chair. What was he here for? He rubbed his forehead roughly, and covered his face. Why was he feeling suddenly naked?

“What, it finally worked?” Her voice was as sharp as lemon. It cut.

“What worked?” He still wasn't looking at her, still hiding behind his hands.

“I suppose you know. The spell. I didn't expect it to take so long.”

“Ah, that. No. No, it didn't work.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“It didn't work because...” he dropped his hands to the table, in a gesture of defeat. “Because...” No, he couldn't say this. He just looked at her instead.

“Oh.” For a moment she looked alive again, as though the magic and joy weren't being crushed out of her. “You... you already loved me.”

He dropped his gaze, ashamed. He owed her the truth.

“Yes.”

“So, I wasted my energy. If I had just let things take their course, you might have let me go.”

“I don't think so.”

“All duty, aren't you? There's nothing in you but rules and duty.”

“If... if I could do it again, I'd let you go.”

She looked at him then for a long time, and finally there was a real smile. Only for a moment, and as quick as a flinch. But it was there, and something quickened in him. “Well,” she said, wearily, “maybe there's hope for you yet.” She pushed herself up, using the table for leverage, and made to leave the room.

“Victoria...”

“Yes?” She turned at the door.

“Can I... can I see you again?”

“You won't keep the visits up,” she said, “nobody does. And ten years is a long time.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You should be.”

With that she was through the door, and he was sitting alone. 

“Oh God,” the whisper was out of him before he could stop it. “What have I done?”


End file.
